


a fool for lesser things

by acroamatica, starsshinedarkly77



Series: if you let me be your skyline I'll let you be the wave [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FANFICCEPTION, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, but he's an accountant he can only thaw so far, by which i mean he's trying very hard to be a Real Boy, cw: vomiting, do not mix alcohol with medication it is a Bad Idea, do not mix christmas parties with alcohol and medication either; also a Bad Idea, i'm not very nice to them am i, in influenza veritas, look hux tries all right he does his sawdust best, roommate au, sofa forts, warnings for self-hatred and late-stage capitalism, yes this is fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acroamatica/pseuds/acroamatica, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsshinedarkly77/pseuds/starsshinedarkly77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo's whole life is a series of bad decisions, starting with saying yes to accompanying Hux to a work Christmas party, as if he were the kind of person who did that.</p><p>Hux deals with the aftermath as best he can. He doesn't understand. But perhaps he will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a fool for lesser things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starsshinedarkly77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsshinedarkly77/gifts).



> written by acroamatica, upon the occasion of the ascension to twenty-something-ness of the lovely starsshinedarkly77. i've tagged stars as coauthor because this is set in her modern au, taking place directly after [where the hedgerows slowly wind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7472868), which i adore ridiculously, and a good long ways before [a pound of cure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7250605) and [there now, steady love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7022332). this was terrific fun to do as self-indulgent sickfic is not only stars' favourite thing but also mine.
> 
> many thanks to [saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/) for excellent beta work.
> 
>  
> 
> _i don't care what consequence it brings ___  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _i have been a fool for lesser things_  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> _i want you so bad, i think you ought to know that_  
> 
> 
>  
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> _i intend to hold you for the longest time_  
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> 
>  
> 
> _  
>  \- billy joel  
>  _  
> 

Christmas parties were stupid. And he was stupid for going to them, and Hux was stupid for making him do it.

This was his fourth glass of punch for the night - he’d switched to the hard stuff, after the fifth or sixth impossibly awkward attempt at small talk with someone he was sure barely even knew Hux’s name, but still had to ask him “oh, and what do _you_ do?” as though it wasn’t obvious enough that he didn’t fit in. Hux had said, “He’s an artist,” when he hadn’t been able to dredge up the words soon enough, and the pride Hux had spoken with had taken a little bit of the edge off the fact that he couldn’t speak for himself, but not all of it. Not when he could hear the challenge in Hux’s voice, how he expected the startled eyes and the “an _artist_ , my goodness, that’s a surprise”. 

It probably was a surprise. Hux had only been working with this company for a couple of months, through a major audit, and Kylo wasn’t totally sure why they’d even invited him to this party, let alone told him to bring a plus-one. But Hux usually added class to whatever he attended, and no doubt they’d noticed that and just… assumed his date would be some cheery little brunette named Natalie who worked in customer support somewhere and owned a pug and a balcony herb garden and could chat pleasantly with them without making them feel odd or inferior. Or maybe he wasn’t giving them enough credit - the cheery little brunette could’ve been named Paul. Probably these people wouldn’t mind that, or Hux wouldn’t have brought him at all. But they did mind Kylo, and his silence, and his hair and his piercings, and the way his hastily thrifted shirt and jacket didn’t quite fit, and the way they had to look up at him, and the way the punch glasses looked so tiny in his paint-stained hand.

He’d been working on Hux’s Christmas gift that afternoon, and there was black and grey paint caked into his cuticles. He stared at them, wondering if the nausea he was trying to ignore was stress, or champagne punch not playing well with his meds, or just the fact that there had been too much mayo on the strange little bread round with unidentifiable vegetable artwork and whatever the reddish paste had been - he hadn’t asked, because no-one else had asked, they’d just thanked the server and eaten it anyway, as though they ate things like this all the time. So he’d done the same, even though it had coated his mouth and he’d needed to sip quickly at his punch to try to cut the taste. He’d tried to eat a couple of other things, all of which seemed to be some variation on the theme of overthought and underflavoured, but eventually he’d abandoned that plan because everything still tasted vaguely like mayo. All he wanted, childishly, was a handful of crackers. But Hux’s colleagues were already staring quite enough. He didn’t need his giant weirdo boyfriend to also be the giant weirdo eating Ritzes with nothing on them.

He drifted at Hux’s side, like a wraith, sucking the light out of the room with every failed attempt at conversation. His head hurt, all around both his eyes, between them and along his cheekbones, as if he’d put on a demonic pair of glasses. 

He shouldn’t have come. He knew it. He hadn’t wanted to, not really, but - Hux had never invited him to anything before, and. He’d looked so happy when Kylo had said he would. Like he was proud to show him off, the way Hux liked to show off all his nice things. As if _Kylo_ could be a nice thing. 

How he could be proud now, Kylo wasn’t sure - he had to be regretting this decision as much as Kylo was - but it was too late, and there’d be _hours_ of this yet, before they could make polite excuses and go home, where at least he didn’t feel out of place anymore, where nobody would look at him funny just because he would rather have crawled under a table than talk to people he didn’t know.

“And this is Bryan, the accounting team leader,” Hux was saying, and oh god, that meant he actually worked with Hux, so Kylo tried to smile, well aware of how that looked. “Bryan, this is Kylo, my partner.”

Bryan was an older man, tall and well-built and greying, and he looked Kylo over with an expression Kylo had seen far too many times already tonight: _Where on earth did he find you?_

Bryan offered a hand, anyway. “A pleasure,” he said, and Kylo scrambled to set down his punch glass and wipe his hand surreptitiously against his jacket before shaking Bryan’s hand just as awkwardly as he’d done everything else. Bryan’s grip was sure, dry and warm on Kylo’s clammy and shaking palm.

“Definitely,” Kylo said - he had to look serious and professional, and his heart was pounding already - “Have you, uh, worked together a lot?”

Bryan smiled. “I would have thought Hux would have mentioned me. I’m his supervisor.”

“Oh, oh of course,” Kylo said quickly, just as Hux said “I don’t really talk about work a lot at home,” and squeezed Kylo’s hand, which felt like a warning. He tried to swallow, and couldn’t.

“And what do _you_ do,” Bryan said, as though he expected the answer to be _barista_ , which it sort of was, or _busker_ , or _amoeba_.

The floor lurched under him. “I’m an artist,” Kylo said hoarsely, “excuse me, please.” And he dropped Hux’s hand and most certainly did not run, just walked very fast, towards the washrooms. His knees were faltering, but they would get him there and out of sight.

The men’s room was empty, and he locked himself in the end stall and put his head on his knees, and waited for the spinning feeling to stop. His chest hurt when he tried to breathe, a spreading burn from the back of his throat, and his hands felt cold on the back of his neck as he squeezed it, trying to hold himself together. He was a disgrace, he should never have come, here he was having at least half of a panic attack in front of everyone Hux had to see every day, who knew now that Hux couldn’t do any better than this terrible facsimile of an adult, this failure - he gripped his hair hard and pulled, in case the pain would help.

“You’re drunk,” he whispered to himself, because that was better than admitting how badly he was coping with something that should have been easy. “You’re just drunk, you complete fuckup.”

The door opened, the music spiking louder for a second and then dying back as it shut, and dress shoes clacked across the floor - “Kylo?”

For a moment he considered staying silent, as if Hux would just leave, and none of this would have ever happened and he wouldn’t have to explain this.

“Kylo,” Hux said sharply, and the shoes stopped outside the closed stall. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

He made himself swallow, made himself stand up and open the door - “Sorry,” he said, forcing his voice into something like its usual tone.

“What happened there?” Hux looked annoyed, and of course he had to be. Kylo had basically just run away from his boss. 

“Sorry,” he said again, moving to the sink to run cool water over his hands. “I… think I overdid it with the punch. Got really dizzy there for a second.” _You’re drunk_ , he told himself. _You’re drunk, everyone gets drunk at the Christmas party. He can’t get too mad at you._

Hux sighed. “I told you not to drink, with your meds.”

“Sorry,” for the third time, because it was so much easier than anything else. “I should’ve listened.” He splashed his face too. He didn’t look great, he noted absently. All the colour in his face seemed to be concentrated in two hectic spots high on his cheeks.

Hux crossed his arms and looked Kylo over, which was no better coming from him than it had been from anyone else so far tonight. “Can you make it through dinner?”

Kylo’s stomach lurched; he took a deep breath to settle it. “Probably?” There wouldn’t be any more mayo, he could do this, he could -

“Bloody hell,” Hux said, gently enough, but still. “You look green. Let’s go home.”

“No, no,” Kylo protested, feeling genuinely ill now, “you can’t leave, what’ll they all think?”

“They’ll think whatever they like,” Hux said. “Drink some water.”

Kylo cupped a palm under the tap and sipped carefully from it. It did seem to help the burn in his throat. “No,” he said again. “You can’t go. I can do this.”

“Would you go home if I agreed to stay?” Hux said, exasperatedly. “I don’t know why it’s so important to you. You don’t even want to be here anyhow, you never did, and you wouldn’t have gotten blind if you were enjoying it. But you're absolutely not staying. I’ll tell them you had another engagement.”

“Fine,” Kylo said, though the word tasted sour, and he had to add: “But I _could_ stay.”

“That's enough,” Hux said. “I should never have asked you to come.”

Kylo's stomach dropped to what felt like the soles of his feet. His ears rang. He’d fucked this up so completely, Hux didn't even want him here anymore; he needed to find a hole to crawl into, or something, anything that would hide him.

Hux didn't seem to notice. “And now I am giving you an out; take it before you spew in front of half the office and I have to hear about it endlessly until the audit is done. Come on, let's put you in a cab.”

Kylo did his best to smile through the echoing and rebounding ache as Hux hustled him through the room, and bundled him into one of the cabs at the rank out front of the hotel. He pulled out his billfold, and counted three twenties into Kylo's hands: “That’ll be plenty,” he said. “Drink more water, have a multivitamin, have a piece of toast, and lie down, all right? I won't be late.”

“Okay,” Kylo said.

The cab driver didn't want to talk, which was just as well, so Kylo spent the drive staring miserably at the ever-increasing number on the meter and thinking about how much of his normal weekly food budget this would have been, not so long ago. He didn't deserve to have anyone spend this much on him just because he’d done something stupid and shortsighted; at best Hux should have left him someplace quiet to sober up, not wasted all this money sending him home. It wasn’t a pleasant train of thought, but it kept his mind off the far worse subjects of his unstable stomach, and the ache in his throat and chest and head, and Hux saying _I should never have asked you to come._

Hux’s estimate had been inflated, at least, and he handed the bundle of bills over to the driver, judging there was enough left to make a decent tip. It seemed the very least he could do to pass on the generosity of Hux’s gesture to someone who actually did deserve it. 

There was an elevator, because this building was fancy, but Kylo took the stairs most days. It was less to add to his leg workouts that way. And it should have been easy. It usually was. But tonight it wasn’t; he made it as far as the landing for the first level before he had to sit down on the steps. His head clanged with pain and dizziness, and he concentrated very hard for a few moments on not throwing up, not now and not here. His legs were shaking like he’d done ten flights instead of one.

It had been a while since he’d last been drunk, and it had been before he was as medicated as he was now, but - it shouldn’t have felt like this.

He groaned, and heaved himself up to his feet, clinging to the stair rail until he felt steady enough to stagger out into the first floor hallway and press the button for the elevator. He could worry about how pathetic he was later. Right now he just needed to get up to the apartment, and do what he’d promised Hux - a lot of water, a vitamin to give him back what the alcohol would strip from him, a piece of toast, and then - bed. Maybe forever.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to get to the fourth floor, and to let himself in. He shed clothes and shoes as he stumbled to the kitchen, tossing his jacket and tie onto the table, and noticed from a distance how badly his hands were shaking as he reached a water glass down out of the cupboard.

 _Focus. Do what you have to do, while you still can._ Drink for drink, he remembered that from college; the punch glasses had been small, so he could get away with two glasses of water. 

The faucet aerated the water, and he watched the bubbles until they settled, until it was clear and clean and definitely just water with no sediments or anything. It tasted like nothing, like the glass he was drinking it from, and he drained it and refilled it again.

He’d drunk so fast it was still cold in his stomach, an uncomfortable radiating cold, and he hunched over the edge of the sink and shivered hard enough to clack his teeth together, thought about putting his jacket back on but getting it seemed too difficult. He would just… drink the rest of this, and then go take off this shirt that didn't fit, that still smelled faintly like the Febreze that the Goodwill used, and find a sweatshirt or something, something a real person would wear, and forget that a $20 suit was all he could afford to try to fit in with real adults. Not like Hux, not like perfect Hux who belonged, who could belong anywhere - who _should never have asked you to come, should never, should never_ \- he breathed in an audible sob, reached desperately for the glass and gulped more cold against the rising tide inside of him, maybe nausea, maybe tears -

It couldn't be stopped. He’d made too many mistakes. 

The water hit his stomach and it was suddenly just completely _too much_ : he leaned helplessly over the sink as it all came back up, in an overwhelming rush of sharp sour wine-acid and disconcerting chill, as though he didn’t even have enough energy to spare to warm what was in his stomach.

His whole body was shaking with the cold and the spasms, shaking so hard that his knees almost buckled; only his white-knuckle grip on the edge of the sink saved him in time to put his head back down for the next miserable wave. It hurt, this time, a feeling like being roughly seized and wrung out like a wet rag. But at least he was home, and home alone so nobody had to know he was throwing up in the kitchen sink like a drunk frat boy, and at least he could put his head under the faucet and wash the tears off his cheeks and the taste out of his mouth.

The third glass of water came back up too, nearly immediately, but it was easier to throw up water than anything else and he almost didn’t mind. If the poison left him this way maybe he could feel better, _be_ better; maybe he could choke up all the toxic things inside of him and spit them into the drain, and wake up to find he was who Hux wanted him to be. 

The fourth glass he didn't drink, just stared at for a long time, braced weary and panting on his forearms over the sink, watching the running water rinse the metal clean and waiting out his body until it decided the threat had passed and he felt safe to stand up again. 

He wanted, distantly, to lie down on the floor and cry like the child he’d felt like all day, now lonely and cold and sick too, on top of all of his inadequacies. But it wouldn't help. 

His throat hurt, and so did the rest of him, down to the fingers that were cramping from holding himself up. The last thing he felt like doing was trying to make something to eat, let alone actually eating it - but Hux had said to have toast, and the least he could do was to follow Hux's instructions, to prove he could be good. So toast there would have to be. It would probably be good to have something in his stomach, some calories to make up for how drained and weak he felt. And he’d drink this glass of water, eventually, maybe not right this second. Maybe he’d sit on the sofa and drink it slowly while he waited for the toast. Hux hated crumbs on his sofas but water would be okay, water had to be okay.

He fumbled a slice of bread out of the bag and into the toaster, set it on light, and took himself and the glass of water out to the living room. He could see the toaster on the bench. It was fine. He’d just... put his head down for a moment, only a minute or two, he’d get up when the toast popped, but he was so tired, so dazzlingly tired that there were sparkles in his vision… he’d just rest here for a minute until he felt better. 

\---

At first everything seemed quite normal. Hux had let himself in, as quietly as he could, expecting Kylo would be asleep. It wasn’t much past ten, but Kylo had been wobbly enough when he’d seen him off that he wasn’t overly optimistic Kylo would even have followed his hangover prevention instructions before passing out. But the air smelled pleasantly of toast, and Hux smiled as he pulled his shoes off. That was a good sign. Perhaps he wouldn’t have a hungover boyfriend to contend with in the morning. Kylo was bad enough at mornings as it was - hang on.

Hux narrowed his eyes at the toaster on the bench.

There was still bread in it.

He padded over, silently sock-footed, and poked at the toast - stone cold. How ridiculous. He revised his estimates of Kylo’s future functionality downwards again, and pulled the bread out, turning to take it into the kitchen to toss it out - 

A tiny noise, like a whimper, made him spin around.

Kylo was curled up on one of the sofas, with his feet resting on the floor as though he’d just keeled over sideways. 

Hux _tsk_ ed and set the toast back down on the bench, dusted the crumbs off his fingertips, and went over to the sofa.

At first he was almost inclined to laugh. Kylo had fallen asleep like a toddler, dropped off in the middle of what he was doing, simply too sleepy to go on. It was equal parts ridiculous and endearing to see him like that, and if only he hadn’t managed it by drinking himself stupid in front of Hux’s colleagues it would have been quite affecting. As it was, Hux fully intended to wake him up.

Until he got closer, and saw how Kylo was racked with shivers, his arms clutched against himself, pulling at an imaginary blanket.

How long had he been there? He was clearly freezing half to death in just the overlarge and rumpled white shirt and dress slacks he was wearing; it was a wonder he hadn’t woken himself. Hux reached out to touch his cheek, suddenly deciding to be gentle with him after all, and brushed the backs of his fingers against Kylo’s skin.

Then he startled, pulling his fingers back as though he’d touched a fire.

Kylo wasn’t cold at all. He was _burning_ with fever.

Hux rocked back on his heels, suddenly shot through with the horrible knowledge of what he’d overlooked - what might have been hidden from him, but had possibly even gone unnoticed by Kylo himself.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the shivering form on the sofa, as he replayed everything he’d said in his head. He hadn’t meant to be cutting, but… he’d hoped so much that Kylo would be able to stand it, that he could have him at his side all night and they could turn something difficult into something nice. And instead he’d just crumbled as though he wasn't even making an effort. 

Perhaps, Hux realised, he had been making more of an effort than anyone could have known.

“Wake up, sweet,” he murmured, stroking Kylo’s cheek - it was less shocking when he expected the heat, but he was still much, much too hot. “Wake up. I’m back, come to bed, you need to get out of these clothes and into something warm - come on.”

Kylo was normally such a light sleeper, he should have woken when Hux came in, and he certainly should have woken with Hux’s touch. He should have. He would have.

He wasn’t waking up.

“Okay,” Hux said, as though Kylo could hear, as though he needed to be kept cheerful. “Okay, that’s - that’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Had their positions been reversed, he was fairly sure Kylo could have carried him, at least as far as the bedroom. But Hux was well aware he couldn’t carry Kylo, in any way at all. He would have to stay where he was until he was well enough to move under his own power. And that might be hours. 

This was Hux's fault, that he’d dragged Kylo out while he wasn't well, into a situation that was only going to make everything so much worse, and not paid enough attention to even notice. He hadn't known - but he did now, and he owed it to Kylo to do his best for him now.

At least the sofa was comfortable enough for a while. Hux did what he could: hoisted Kylo’s ankles up onto the cushions (and still he didn’t wake), went to the bedroom and brought back armfuls of blankets, every blanket they had. He tucked them over and under him, covered him as best he knew how - tucked his pillow underneath his head, draped a damp cloth over his forehead. 

But it didn’t seem like enough. If Kylo rolled, or shifted, he’d fall. Hux imagined him cradling a broken elbow, or cracking his skull on the floor; he couldn’t allow that.

He couldn’t move the sofa with Kylo on it, but he could move the second one, and drag the coffee table out from between them, and shove them together in a strange sort of padded box. Now he couldn’t fall, and Hux just hoped it would be easy enough to get out in the gap between the armrests if he needed to.

He considered his makeshift bed for a while, and its occupant, still shivering in rolling waves under the mound of blankets. It was getting on for eleven now, and he was very tired; but what if Kylo woke up, what if he needed something and Hux was too far away to hear him?

The answer, in the end, was clear enough. Every blanket in the house was on Kylo, and it wasn’t warm enough to sleep in the bedroom without them. Hux collected his pillow from the sadly denuded bed, wrapped himself in his bathrobe and his overcoat, and climbed into the sofa-box next to Kylo.

At least he’d be nearby, he thought, and suppressed his own shiver as he wiggled his back up against the cushions in an effort to save what body heat he still had. There was a nasty draft coming off the glass of the balcony door, he could feel it over his hands and feet. Why couldn't Kylo have made it to the bed before he passed out, Hux wondered uselessly. Then at least they would have been snug now, and not subjected to winter trying to creep in however it could. 

Kylo was radiantly warm, now more than ever. If he could trap that heat and keep it for them somehow, close off a little room as he would have closed off the bedroom… 

He pondered the logistics for a minute, and then gently peeled the top blanket from Kylo's shoulders. “Sorry,” he whispered, tucking the rest tighter.

From outside of the sofa-box it seemed manageable: the blanket stretched over the backs of the sofas, and he brought in the chairs from the kitchen to pin the blanket tightly over the cavity beneath. The end at their feet, nearest the window, was covered; the end at their heads had a small gap for fresh air.

He crawled into the nest, and was struck immediately by how much cosier it seemed. This would help.

He settled himself against the cushions, and gave in to the sentimental impulse to slip his hand under the edge of the blankets and find Kylo's arm. 

With his fingers against the pulse in the crook of Kylo's elbow, Hux fell asleep. 

He woke up too hot, uncomfortable and sweaty, and wriggled out of the bathrobe and overcoat as carefully as he could, so as not to catch Kylo with a stray elbow. It was still early, 2:45 by the cold blue light of his watch, and Kylo had rolled over a little and was now snoring the raspy, thick snore of someone with too much fluid in their airways. Hux winced at it. There was no doubt now; Kylo had definitely caught something awful. With the fever, Hux supposed it was the flu that had been going around. He’d told Kylo to go and get a flu shot, just like he did every year, but he was fairly sure Kylo hadn’t done it.

Hux laid his hand gently against Kylo’s forehead. Still too hot, and the washcloth had fallen off and was lost amongst the blankets. He was shivering slightly less, though. 

Kylo groaned, opened dazed, glazed eyes: “Hux?” he whispered. “Z’at you?”

“I’m here,” Hux murmured, and cupped Kylo's cheek. “It’s all right.”

“No,” Kylo moaned, “no no, get away -”

Hux frowned and pulled back. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Does it hurt?”

“No - I'm _sick_ ,” Kylo said, “I feel like _shit_ and you're gonna get it and you’ll hate me even more.”

Hux scoffed, despite the little stab in his chest. “More than what? I don't _hate_ you, how absurd.”

“Maybe you should,” Kylo said dismally. “You're right, you shouldn't’ve asked me to come, it was supposed to be a nice night, and I _ruined_ it, and now everyone you work with knows you're dating a freak -” He choked on the k and coughed into his elbow, wet and startlingly loud in the small space. “Fuck, just - why’d you even want me there?”

“Because I thought it would be better with you,” Hux said simply. He ached, hearing how utterly demoralised Kylo sounded. “I’m sorry - I think I was rather an arse, tonight. You were very good to come.” He petted Kylo’s arm. “Although I wish you’d just told me you weren’t well.”

“I didn’t really know,” Kylo said. “I just… never mind. And you’re not an ass. But you were right the first time. I didn’t belong there.”

“That’s not what I meant - what I meant was, I shouldn’t have made you do something that was so awful for you.” Hux squeezed his hand. “No matter how much I wanted you there, it wasn’t fair on you. And I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s fine,” Kylo said tiredly, as though what was or wasn’t fair had no bearing on the situation at all. He coughed again, doubling up on himself for a moment; the attacks were short, but violent, and seemed to be hurting him more than they helped. 

“ _Ow_ ,” he said, when he had enough breath to, as though the pain was an affront.

“How long have you been coughing like that?” _Why haven’t I noticed this before, has this been going on for days - what aren’t you telling me?_ “Did you strain something?”

“No - well. Maybe.” Kylo drew back, and admitted quietly, “I threw up, before. When I got home. I think it was mostly the booze but I guess... I’m sore from that. The cough is new. And then - was I on the sofa, am I still on the sofa? Where _are_ we?”

“The living room,” Hux said. “You were on the sofa, I - didn't want to move you, so I thought I’d just stay here too. I moved the other one in and put a blanket over us.”

“What - that doesn’t - go to _bed_ ,” Kylo said, and shoved weakly at his chest.

Hux caught Kylo's hand and held it. He’d helped little enough, he had to do at least this much. “Fine, if you come with me.” 

“No, I should… I should sleep in my room.”

“You haven't slept there in months,” Hux said gently. “Why on earth would I make you do it now?”

Kylo struggled up onto one elbow, and then all at once seemed to run out of energy, and flopped back down with a shuddering moan that turned into another coughing fit and left him gasping against the pillow. 

“What if we both stay here?” Hux said, trying to make it sound like an offer rather than a certainty. “You don’t want to move. I don’t want to move. Neither of us has work in the morning, and I’ve had a flu shot and I don't think I can catch this from you, but it’s not the end of the world if I did, and I’d… I’d rather be with you.”

“Why?” Kylo said softly, as though he couldn’t imagine an answer.

Hux sighed. “Because you’re running a hell of a fever right now, and I’m actually rather worried about you.”

“Oh,” Kylo said; it was the sound of a small and uncomfortable revelation. “... You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“Well, I do. And also it’s the middle of the night,” Hux added, to put practicality back in the equation instead of the increasingly uneasy honesty. “So why don’t you just lie here with me for a little while? Unless there’s something you need?” Why hadn’t he already offered? He was so _bad_ at this. “Let me get you something. Water. Paracetamol. Tea?”

“A new body,” Kylo grumbled. “Maybe a new brain too, while you’re at it. _God_ , I feel awful.” It still seemed to surprise him.

“I like your body the way it is,” Hux said. “Even full of viruses.”

“Ugh,” Kylo said, and curled into a ball, pressing the top of his head against Hux’s collarbone, which Hux knew for the victory it was. Even through his heavy hair Hux could feel the burning heat coming off him.

“That’s better.” And it was, because this, at least, he knew how to do - he could wrap his arms around Kylo, rearrange some of the blankets on him and just hold him, breathing in his alcohol-sharp sweat and thinking as hard as he could _sleep, sleep, please feel better._

It didn’t matter what his colleagues thought of Kylo, nor even what they thought of him, once the audit was done. What mattered was the way Kylo’s hands splayed on Hux’s chest, as though he _needed_ him.

\---

Pink-tinted light filtered through the blanket when Kylo opened his eyes, lending a soft blush to the grey fabric of the sofa.

Hux wasn’t there, but he had been - his overcoat was still crumpled at the back of the other sofa, one sleeve stretched across the cushions to rest next to Kylo’s hand. He stretched his fingers out and stroked the edge of the cuff with his fingertips: a phantom Hux, left behind like a shed skin. And even this echo of him still reached for Kylo.

The real thing was in the kitchen, by the sounds of distant clinking he could hear: a spoon on ceramic, maybe stirring, brisk and rhythmic.

He wiggled back into the right angle of the sofa, and tried to cough quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb whatever Hux was doing. But there was a bark he couldn’t suppress in it, and the clinking stopped, was replaced with footsteps and the edge of the blanket coming up to let in cold air and light.

He winced away from the sunlight, too sharp, and coughed again at the movement - louder this time, and less controllable, on the edge of choking him.

“Sorry,” Hux was saying, and his hand was on Kylo’s back, rubbing little circles. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry, _breathe_ , sweet.”

“I’m trying,” Kylo managed, between coughs, and then the glue in his throat came free and he swallowed a couple of times to clear it, shuddered at the bitter taste - and something warm was pressed into his hand. A cup of tea.

“Here,” Hux said. “Can you sit up a little?”

It was so much harder than it should have been to answer that question, but he did get there with the help of the arm of the sofa, and he managed to sip from the cup without spilling it on himself or, more importantly, Hux’s sofa.

From this position he could actually see Hux, who was crouching at the end of the sofa, with the edge of the blanket behind his head and shoulders now. He looked clean and alert, in a fresh shirt and with his hair in its usual neat style, but also undeniably concerned and unhappy.

“You put honey in this,” Kylo said, a neutral observation.

“And lemon,” Hux said. “I thought it might help. And if nothing else the steam will help your throat. How are you feeling?”

He sipped again, and took stock: achy, shaky, full of sludge, probably not going to throw up again but somewhere between hungry and queasy. “Not great,” he said finally. “Not great. Don’t think I want to run a marathon today.”

Hux smiled, small and a little sad. “I’ll call the registrar and withdraw you.” He ran his fingers over Kylo’s forehead. “So if a marathon’s off the table, how does this sound: two cold and flu tablets, the rest of that cup of tea, maybe some soup if you’re up to it, and I sign us up for Netflix so you can bingewatch as many cartoons as you like?”

“I said no marathons,” Kylo groaned, and then tried to smile at Hux over the top of his cup. “You don’t have to do - any of that.”

“Well, I’ve already done most of it,” Hux said briskly. “I went out this morning while you were still asleep. We didn’t really have anything in the house.”

Hux never got sick, hadn’t had so much as a sniffle the whole time Kylo had been living with him. It was Kylo and his customer-facing job that were the plague vectors, and he’d had three colds already, but he just sucked it up and kept going, usually. Medication was expensive, and time off wasn’t… really a thing he could afford. Everyone got colds. It was fine.

This was worse, but he’d make it work. “Thanks,” he said, trying to sound grateful and not like he was thinking about it too much. “What do I owe you?”

Hux waved it off. “Consider it part of the apology due for me dragging you to things you didn’t want to do, and shouldn’t have been doing, and then being awful about it.” He looked genuinely remorseful, which was not a look Kylo liked on Hux. “Am I not entitled to spoil my boyfriend when he needs it, and deserves it?”

“I don’t need it,” Kylo said quickly, and pushed the mug back at Hux, an almost reflexive gesture.

“You do,” Hux said, although less patiently than he had started the discussion, and pushed the mug right back again. “You don’t feel as hot, but you’re still feverish. You actually do need fluids, and you can’t tell me you _don’t deserve_ painkillers.” He raised an eyebrow as though he fully expected Kylo to try. Which… was really, annoyingly, correct, although Kylo wasn’t sure if he wanted to do it more just because Hux had said not to.

“That’s what I thought,” Hux said. “Drink that. I’ll be right back.”

The little space was warmer with the blanket back down again, and Kylo traced his fingertips over the stitching pattern of the duvet, loops and whorls that kept the fluff inside in its little pockets. How intricate, the ways things were held together; how complicated, the way the stitches locked into each other and kept the blanket whole.

Hux’s hand came back under the blanket, followed immediately by the rest of him, folding himself up carefully so as not to take up too much space - Hux always gave such an impression of smallness, until he had to do something that required him to actually be small.

“Here,” he said, pulling a blister pack from his pocket as he arranged himself opposite Kylo. “Start with those.”

While Kylo popped them out into his hand and looked at them, Hux put his hand outside the blankets again, and came back with a little bowl, and Kylo recognised the three pills in it as the rest of the medications he took every morning. “These next,” Hux said.

Kylo’s throat was suddenly too tight to swallow anything. It was one thing - he knew, he _knew_ Hux knew about his pills, of _course_ Hux knew about his pills, if it weren’t for them they probably wouldn’t even be together. But to be confronted with the fact that Hux knew he had to have them every day, knew when he took them - that he knew Kylo that _well_ , and that he _cared_...

There was a word for that kind of care, and for the look on Hux’s face as he held out the bowl, and it was small and utterly terrifying.

He tipped the pills in his hand into the bowl, set the mug down on the flat arm of the sofa, and shook his head. “I can’t right now,” he said, and he’d blame the hoarseness on the flu, but he couldn’t blame the way his eyes were welling up on anything but how Hux looked at him, with that impossible softness, and in this tiny space there wasn’t anywhere to hide.

He buried his face in his arm anyway.

“Kylo,” Hux said, startled. “ _Kylo._ What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, trying to grit his teeth through it like he always did. But it wasn’t working.

“Hey.” Hux’s hands were gentle on the back of his neck. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t,” and his breath broke over a shudder, “I don’t need _anything_.” _I need too much. I can’t have that. I can’t need it, I can’t need things, I can’t need you -_

“Hey, hey - no,” Hux was saying, and he was pulling at Kylo, putting his arms between Kylo and the world as the shudders slid out of his control and became sobs. “Darling. Don’t.”

He made a fist, thumped it against Hux’s chest once, remade it around a handful of Hux’s sweater; pushed his nose into the soft fabric; let it happen, because he was sick and exhausted and it was going to happen whether he let it or not; let Hux hold him, because as scary as it was to be here, crying, where someone else could see him, the thought of Hux not being there was somehow even worse.

“All right,” Hux murmured, dipping his chin down to kiss the top of Kylo’s head. “All right, sweet, relax. You’re safe here.”

For a few minutes he cried, messily and wetly, coughing through it and scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his awful shirt to keep the worst of it off Hux’s sweater. He’d never cried daintily or delicately, but he wouldn’t ruin anything that wasn’t his to ruin. Not when he was sure the sweater cost more than his week’s pay. Hux always had such nice things.

But it was soft against his hot cheeks when the tears let up, while he tried to get his breathing back to something like normal even though his nose was completely blocked and breathing through his mouth hurt his chest.

Hux was petting his hair, carding his fingers through it. “Better?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Kylo said thickly. “I need -”

“Here.” Hux reached over his head, out of the blanket, and with a little twist he grabbed what turned out to be a box of tissues. He pressed it against Kylo’s chest.

They were the nice kind, the fancy kind, thick like cloth and imbued with lotion or aloe or something that made them better than ordinary tissues. He rolled away from Hux and blew his nose until he could at least sort of breathe again.

“There’s a bin just out there,” Hux said, watching Kylo stare at his third tissue.

“Of course,” Kylo said, and suddenly it was almost funny, for some reason. “Did you just move the entire apartment within arm’s reach?”

Hux snorted. “Something like that, actually. I brought everything over that I could imagine us wanting.”

Kylo rolled back over, and let himself press his face back against the sweater. He was sick. He could have this one concession.

“Lazy,” he said, against Hux’s chest.

“Clever,” Hux corrected as he slipped his hands back into Kylo’s hair. “I didn’t want to have to get up again when I could be in here, with you.”

Kylo looked up at the blanket roof above them. “It’s a good sofa fort,” he said. “Really good.”

“I expect,” Hux said, with a note of real laughter in his voice, “that it’s the best sofa fort anyone’s made for you in a while.”

“Ever.” Kylo closed his eyes again, turned his face into the dark shelter of Hux’s embrace. “I’m not going to want to leave, come Monday.”

“I don’t see any reason you should have to,” Hux said. “I have work, but I sincerely doubt you’ll be well enough to go in, so you may as well stay in here if you want to.”

Kylo sighed, coldness seeping back into the edges of his tiny bit of happiness. “As amazing as that sounds, I have a shift from ten to six, and I had to fight to get it. Everyone wants hours this close to Christmas, now all the high-schoolers who do the weekends are free. If I call in they’ll cut me off the roster next week.” And maybe the week after that, and maybe the week after that too.

“They can’t do that.” Hux was scandalised. “You’re _sick_ , you have no business interacting with the public. And certainly not serving food and drinks.”

“I’m not contagious. Probably.” Kylo coughed. “They’ll put me on register, I’ll get some cough drops, it’ll be okay.”

“Kylo…” Hux sounded terribly lost. “I can’t begin to list all the reasons that’s not okay.”

“Yeah, well. If you want rent money.” His mouth twisted. “And if I want to pay any bills this month. Never mind that it’s Christmas.”

“Maybe I don’t want rent money,” Hux said softly. “Maybe I’d rather you got better.”

“I will,” Kylo said. “I have an immune system.”

“But you don’t have any sick leave.”

“I work for minimum wage, Hux.” Kylo pushed away from him, rolled back over and out of his arms and stared at the back of the sofa, anger flooding him from a source he couldn’t quite identify. “I know the air is thinner up there in the corner office, but - some of us don’t get the _luxury_ of time out. And I’d appreciate it if you tried to remember that my life isn’t _like_ yours.”

For a minute Hux was silent, and Kylo hunched his shoulders - Hux was mad at him now, he’d really done it this time and now Hux wouldn’t want to be here with him - but maybe that would be better -

“I’m sorry,” Hux said quietly. “That was - I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” His fingers brushed the back of Kylo’s neck, and then dropped away. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, and I know it’s not that simple, I just -” He sighed. “I just wish I could take care of you.”

“Well, you can’t,” Kylo said, before he could stop himself, though he knew from Hux’s sharp breath that it had landed like a slap to the face. He wanted to cry, again. “That’s not how my life works. I don’t get to have that.”

“You… don’t get to have people care for you.”

It was the truth, it was how things were - so why did it sound so crazy when Hux said it?

“ _Fuck me_ , Kylo, is _that_ what that was about, earlier?” Hux’s voice was sharp, strained, disbelieving. “Are you - do you not -”

A hand seized his shoulder and pulled him onto his back, and he looked up into eyes glittering with pain. “My God,” Hux said. “You really believe it.”

Kylo couldn’t look at him anymore. He shut his eyes, feeling the tears at the corners of them. “You can leave,” he said.

He’d never heard Hux make that sound before - half laugh, half sob. “Can I?”

Then Hux was pulling at him, moving him, dragging his arm out and climbing over it to fit himself against Kylo’s side, wrapping him up with a fierce arms-and-legs grapple hold and tucking his head submissively under Kylo’s chin, pillowing himself on Kylo’s chest, claimed and claiming at once.

“You see,” Hux said, his voice small and tight, “I’m afraid there’s a problem. I can’t. So you’re just going to have to let me bring you pills, and build you forts, and make ridiculous offers that I have to apologise for, and - and bloody _care for you_ , like it or not, until you believe you deserve it, because - I can’t leave at all.”

“Oh,” Kylo said, through ringing ears.

“Yes,” Hux said, and pulled Kylo’s other arm up to his own side. “I’m sorry.”

And they laid there like that for a long time, both of them pretending their quiet sniffles were inaudible over the noise of each other’s heartbeats.

\---

Eventually Kylo took his pills, all of them, with the cold but honey-sweet dregs of his tea. Hux pried himself loose, muttering something about a phone call, and Kylo dozed, lightly, while he listened to the soft sound of Hux’s voice drifting from down the hall. He’d gone into the bedroom and shut the door, so Kylo couldn’t pick out any words, but it was still nice to know he was there.

When he came back, he brought a fresh cup of tea, this one with a cube of ginger root in it as well as the lemon and honey, and he slid it in for Kylo to take, and then waited, crouching, at the end of the couches, as though he was afraid to come in.

Kylo, drowsy now after the pills and the emotional exertion, ran his hand gently over the top of Hux’s hair. “I’m not going to kick you out,” he said.

“You might.” Hux was blushing a little, and it deepened as Kylo watched.

“What’s going on?” He petted Hux again, entranced by the way he dipped his head under Kylo’s touch.

Hux gave him about half a smile and half a grimace. “Will you promise not to be angry?”

“No,” Kylo said, but smiled to soften it.

“So. Er. I may have just.” Hux bit his lip. “That was a client of mine I was on the phone with. He runs an ad agency and I do their yearly audits, and - I remembered him saying when I spoke with him last month for end-of-year prep work that one of his art team was leaving. And - I may have sent him through some pictures of your portfolio work.”

Kylo couldn’t feel his hands. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Hux said, “call in tomorrow. You need to rest up. He wants to see you on Thursday.”

He braced himself visibly, watching Kylo closely for any sign he ought to flee.

“You got me a job interview,” Kylo said slowly. “An art job.”

Hux spread his hands in a helpless shrug. “Merry Christmas? Please don’t hate me -”

“Oh my God,” Kylo said, “ _get in here_.”

Hux smiled like a sunrise, and did as Kylo asked.


End file.
